


Lighter by Shades

by wordslinger



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, this pair is growing on me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: The queen eases off her mourning in shades. Maple leaves flutter from the trees in majestic reds, browns, and fading greens. Instead of the queen’s purple complimenting the scenery, it only seems to compliment her.





	Lighter by Shades

**Author's Note:**

> So. New pairing. New things. New stuff. I wrote this for a friend so be gentle.

The first time he sees her, she is shrouded in black. Her pale skin and wet eyes make for a pathetic picture of mourning. He opens her doors and watches her back and bows his goodnights. They never touch and she never meets his gaze.

Six days pass before she releases the Honor Guard from their post in the north garden. The breach had been repaired after two days. Sir Arcadios buried after four. Jellal watches the queen sign the order with shaking hands and chooses not to notice a teardrop smudging the ink.

* * *

The queen eases off her mourning in shades. She greets the first chill of autumn with deep purple. The velvet of her cloak trails behind her on the gravel paths of the east garden. She prefers the wild, unkempt feel to the other, more pristine areas. He suspects she also enjoys the serenity of the shrines – even if she isn’t a believer.

Maple leaves flutter from the trees in majestic reds, browns, and fading greens. Instead of the queen’s purple complimenting the scenery, it only seems to compliment her.

Hisui’s hair is forever in a twist. Perhaps she is growing into her role as queen or perhaps she is simply pinning herself back. Jellal suspects the latter. He understands the complex system of barriers a person erects to separate themselves from devastation.

He clears his throat and adjusts the fit of his gloves before brushing a layer of violently scarlet leaves from the queen’s favorite bench.

* * *

Snow and ice crust over every window in the palace. The courtyards and gardens are buried beneath a gleaming blanket of white. The mornings he spends with the queen are tedious affairs filled with scrolls and hearings and decrees. The queen fields them all with the exact brand of grace her people have come to love. With a wave of her hand and a press of wax, she heals the wounds of her kingdom.

Her cloak is the color of evergreens today. The lining is something white and fluffy. He likes the way it brushes her cheeks and makes her expression appear lighter than it is. She sighs as her bare fingertips brush the frozen posts of a torii gate.

“We should return,” she says at a volume so low he might’ve missed it if the night weren’t so silent.

“You don’t look as if that’s what you want,” he whispers, his breath a puff from his lips. The queen blinks in surprise and turns away from him in embarrassment.

“I forgot my gloves, is all.” Her laugh is softer than her voice as she tucks her hands inside her cloak. The sound of it lightens the heaviness of the night.

Jellal reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pair of her gloves that had fallen to the floor the previous evening when the clasp of her cloak caught on her hair. She’d dropped the gloves in surprise to untangle the small hook from her twist of hair that remained flawless throughout.

Hisui stares at the gloves as if she is surprised he’d have any of her belongings on his person. For a brief moment he thinks she might cry but, instead, she takes them and runs her fingers over the soft moleskin before sliding her hands inside.

“They don’t match,” she murmurs more to herself than him. “Thank you.”

Her smile is fleeting but it is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a long while.

* * *

She reads with a scowl and he thinks maybe he likes it. When she turns the pages, the tips of her fingers slide across the open face before lifting the next page to hold between her thumb and forefinger. Hisui doesn’t read _anything_ passively – even when she is at her leisure.

Jellal’s eyes slide from the queen to the window. Snow has been falling for three days straight. He loses himself in the blur of white flakes. There is no method to their madness and he finds comfort in the chaos. The sound of a book slamming closed startles him.

“They called him The White Knight, did you know that?” Hisui’s voice is not soft. For the first time in months, she is not _addressing_ him but speaking directly to him.

“I recall that, yes.”

“I always hated that name.” Hisui stands and watches him closely for a moment before moving in front of the fireplace. “He never let me touch him. Not even once. It was always gloves and armor with Arcadios.”

Jellal folds his hands in front of him and waits. He is good at waiting.

“I’m only telling you this because I think if I don’t tell _someone_ it’ll slowly poison me.” When she spins around, the tears on her face glitter in the firelight. “Do you know what it’s like to love someone you can’t touch?”

His stomach twists and as much as he wants to withstand her gaze, he can’t. The snow outside hurts so much less than the queen’s question.

“Forgive me, Sir Jellal, I spoke out of turn.” Hisui sighs and when he glances back at her, she has – for the first time – rumpled the perfect twist of her hair.

Jellal pushes away from the bookcase and crosses the room. She gazes up at him warily and he can’t stand the remorse on her face.

“Love is many things, Your Majesty, but it is rarely kind. I cannot replace your Sir Arcadios.” He doesn’t know why he says the last bit. His mouth opens to pave over his words with better ones but her expression suddenly turns thoughtful. She reaches out to touch the gold trim of his black cloak. Her fingers brush over the piping and the embroidered Fiore crest on his chest.

“I don’t want you to replace him.” Her lips curl into a smirk. “I don’t think white is your color anyway.”

* * *

The queen no longer walks in front of him. He makes no changes for himself but allows her to make a groove beside him.

“Why are you here?” she asks one day when the sky is clear but the earth is still frozen white. Today her dress is a quilted ice blue with a matching cloak and gold trim. “A royal pardon would’ve taken you anywhere. The rest of your guild has found their place in the world. Why not you?”

“Already hunting for my replacement, Your Majesty?” He replies with a tease because he doesn’t know how to answer her question. Hisui smiles but says nothing. Sometimes Jellal thinks her skill in waiting rivals his own. “You aren’t wrong,” he finally says with a sigh. “Crime Sorciere has broken back into its individual pieces and they’ve found their places. I’m still searching for mine.”

“Does that mean you’ll eventually take your leave?”

He smiles and feels lighter. When he glances down at her, she is smiling too. “I’m not unhappy here. And –” Jellal expects the words to stick to the roof of his mouth but they don’t. “There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.”

* * *

Hisui’s royal quarters aren’t completely unfamiliar to him. He’s been in and out of all her many rooms except the ones housing her bed and bath. The study, he thinks, is her favorite. She is more relaxed here than anywhere else.

She sheds the cloak she reserves for fancy winter dress and toes the heels from her feet. Jellal watches with one raised eyebrow as he hovers near the door.

“Don’t look at me that way,” she says with a sigh as she tugs at the pins in her hair. “Is it really so appalling that I toss things aside in my own rooms?”

“No,” he says stoically. Despite his tone, Jellal’s eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of her back as she pulls her hair loose one pin at a time. She _glows_.

“Come,” she commands. “Sit with me.” Hisui falls back into the plush cushions of an armchair and pokes the opposite with her foot.

“As Your Majesty commands,” he says more flirtatiously than he intends.

“You’ve been with me for nearly half a year and you’ve never addressed me as anything other than _Your Majesty.”_ Her smile is soft and if he didn’t know better he’d think her intoxicated for behaving so casually with him.

“What should I call you then?” The chair is comfortable and he resists the urge to melt into it.

“My name. I wouldn’t mind if you called me Hisui.” She laughs and leans her cheek on the wing of the chair. “Would it help if I called you Jellal?”

“Since we’re being so informal, _Hisui,_ I wanted to ask you a question.” Her lighthearted mood fuels his forward impulse.

“Anything.”

“You asked me before why I stayed here, and I want to know why it was _me_ you summoned. Any one of his Holy Knights could’ve taken his place at your side. Surely you have a list of more qualified men to guard your person? I am not a Holy Knight or anything close.”

Hisui sighs but her smile doesn’t fade. “Didn’t you know?” She tucks her legs under the sweep of her dress. “You are renowned for your valor.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “My actions haven’t always been valorous.”

“No, but you wear your heart on your sleeve, Jellal. It’s never been far from view and I trust it. Arcadios filled a gap in my life, even if he never meant to, and I thought maybe I could return the universe a favor.” She sighs again and the sound of it brushes over his ears feather soft. It is both dangerous and alluring. “Perhaps I have a soft spot for difficulty.”

Her words are so candid, so _genuine_ he isn’t sure how to react. Her smile as she watches him card through his feelings warms him. “Am I a lost cause, Hisui? _Difficult?”_

“Maybe a little.” She graces him with another smile and he takes it all the way inside his chest. “My turn. Why haven’t you taken a lover?” Laughter comes quickly and he enjoys the way her cheeks flush pink. “You could have your choice of handmaids, _Sir_ Jellal. None of them would turn you away.”

“Did Arcadios have an affinity for handmaids?” He asks without thinking. Instead of crushing the mood, Hisui snorts and covers her mouth in embarrassment.

“No,” she says with humor. “No, he would not have _me_ or the gaggle of handmaids swooning at his every move.”

After a long pause, Jellal heaves a breath. “The answer to your question is simple. I am a man of many boxes. I’ve had lovers before but not now.”

“That doesn’t sound simple,” Hisui whispers. “Your boxes sound complex. How do you maintain so many?”

“Are you implying I have a rotation of women?” He means it as a joke but it comes out far too quiet for that.

“I know for a fact you don’t.” Her gaze isn’t something judging or harsh or anything that stings. Revealing himself to her doesn’t hurt or leave him feeling broken and without skin.

“You were right before.” Jellal watches the fire scrabble for life in the dying logs. “My boxes aren’t simple but they aren’t a hazard either. My heart is my own.”

Hisui stands suddenly and crosses the small gap between them. Her dress is as light as he’s ever seen it and he decides pink is her best color. She touches his shoulder and there is an affection he doesn’t expect. Before he can stop himself, his arm bends and his fingers brush hers as she passes by.

He stays until the fire is gone.

* * *

On the night of the New Year, Crocus comes alive. Not even the Grand Magic Games caused such an air of excitement and hopeful revelry. The queen is in a pale cream dress he thinks is too light. She is washed out under the twinkling lights of the party that has spilled out into every royal garden and beyond the palace walls.

Ten minutes before midnight she turns to him and he understands she is ready to be free of the crowd. It is another five minutes before there’s a long corridor between them and everyone else. Without warning, Hisui grabs his arm. He waits for her to pull the heels from her feet before moving forward. She doesn’t let go of him and Jellal is _aware_ of her in a way he hasn’t been before.

The clock on her wall shows two minutes and forty-three seconds until midnight. Hisui lets her shoes fall to the floor as he closes the door behind them. He hasn’t left her in the doorway with a silent bow for weeks and he doesn’t want to start the practice again _now_. Not _tonight._

Hisui spins around and he realizes the dress is actually a full shade darker than her skin. Her cheeks are high with color and her smile untangles one of the many knots in his chest. He thinks – _hopes_ – maybe this is only the _first._ He wants her to tug on all his loose strings and pull them free.

“I didn’t want to stay for the big countdown. I hope –”

“It’s okay,” he finishes for her. His smile is slower than hers but she is _radiant_ when he does.

Hisui’s hand is on his chest and she presses her fingertips into the embroidered Fiore crest. The second hand on the clock marks one minute until midnight. Suddenly she is touching the edge of his jaw and her lips part. She closes the gap before he can catch his breath.

It is not his first kiss and it’s been years since he’s considered himself _young_ but he still feels that same rush. That same _high._ The clock chimes midnight when he returns her kiss and the palm of his hand finds her cheek.

She sucks in a breath and grabs his hand to tug off the leather glove before kissing him again. Her skin is soft and her hair like silk. She tastes like champagne and peach glaze. Hisui is nothing like he expects but everything he wants.

He pulls back but not away. Her lips are still brushing his when she smiles again.

“Happy New Year,” Hisui whispers.

When he is alone again in the hallway he touches his lips with his bare fingers.

* * *

Logically Jellal understands why his presence during palace security meetings is necessary, but that knowledge doesn’t make the time pass any easier. He is always the last to arrive and the first to leave. He answers to the queen alone, and exchanging social niceties with the Holy Knights isn’t ever on his list of things to do.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Jellal reaches behind a tapestry to trigger the hidden doorway that will lead him to the corridor of royal bed quarters. The queen’s suites occupy the entire west hall and he knows every shadow, every potted plant, every corner, and every doorway.

Her study smells of burning logs and lemon wood polish, but beyond he is greeted with the scent of her lavender bath oil. The air is heavy with it and with every step closer to the door standing open just a hair, he leaves an article of his clothing on the floor.

The high windows that line the far bathroom wall are dark with rainclouds. Crocus commits herself to every season with enthusiasm and this includes the frigid rains of spring. A tangle of wet hair spills over the edge of the bath. Strands of it stick to the tiles and he wants them around his fingers instead.

An arm rises above the edge and, without turning, she reaches for him. Jellal leaves the last of his clothes among hers on the floor and takes her hand before stepping into the water he knows will be too hot. The queen enjoys her baths so hot they leave her skin pink and far too warm. He loves it. Before he is fully submerged, Hisui whirls around and settles over him. Her body is soft and he takes his fill of all her naked skin.

“It's Thursday," she says, grinning. "Did you enjoy your boys' club meeting?"

“Immensely.” Jellal tries to keep his expression flat but it’s difficult when she’s pressed against his chest and every inch of him can feel every inch of her.

“Want to talk about it?” Her hand slides through his hair leaving it wet and poking in every direction.

“No.” Jellal gets the handful of her hair he wants and takes the kiss he _needs._

Later when they are both dry and tangled in her sheets, her smile fades and she touches the spot on his chest where the Fiore crest would be if he were clothed.

“Thank you,” she whispers, tucking her hair behind her ear and inching closer.

“For what?”

Hisui takes his hand and kisses the pads of his fingers. “For touching me.”

It’s not until Hisui is sleeping that Jellal realizes he was wrong. Pink is not Hisui’s best color. She has gone from the flat black of mourning to nothing but flesh and in the process, she’s stripped him of his own darkness. It is the shade of her bare skin that he loves her in the most.


End file.
